Faith of the Heart (20 page)

             
Late that afternoon Percy struggled back into town,
sweating
and exhausted.
He plopped into a booth at the café just as
Connie bustled in from the kitchen wiping her hands on a dish cloth.

             
“Any more signs, Percy?” She whispered
,
not wanting any diners to overhear their conversation.
She realized the longer Claire was gone
,
the fainter the chances of rescue were and it had already been four days.

             
Percy simply shook his head, looking forlorn.

             
“Are you going back out on the tr
ail
?”

             
He looked Connie in the eyes.

             
“No, the sheriff wants me here in town keeping the peace.
I’ve been away too long.
I’ve never seen Tom Maxwell so determined to find anybody. He’s barely slept
or
  eaten
anything
.”

             
Connie jumped up and ran back to the kitchen. A moment later she returned with a tall glass of lemonade and a huge slab of
berry
pie for her deputy.

             
“Percy
,
here
,
drink this…”

             
Deputy Simons
on
was fast asleep, head resting on her best table.

CHAPTER
SIXTEEN

The Plains of Nebraska
, August 1869

             
Claire awoke to the smell of boiling coffee. She longed for a bit of privacy, a hot bath, and a change of clothing. She’d been in the same dress since Sunday and she could smell her own stink. It was only a small comfort that her captors smelled even worse. She glanced around, trying to recognize her surroundings. She had
a
faint hope she could still escape and make her way back to Omaha
.
The further they traveled the more lenient Frank and Bud had been with her. They were no longer gagging her mouth and only tied up her hands at night.

Several times she had reached into her pocket to grab her knife, but something stopped her each time.
Fear
, she told herself.
Fear is what’s stopping you.
She was outnumbered by two strong men, and the thought of actually stabbing one of them made her
nauseous.

             
They camped in a grassy field by a narrow river. She f
e
ll asleep in the wagon before the
y
stopped
for
the night,
and she found that her hands weren’t tied. She rose stiffly from the wagon and searched the area. Bud and Frank were watering the horses in the river several yards away and
paying her no mind. She
considered
running, but discounted the thought as she stared out at the open prairie. They would stop her before she got 100 feet, but she wasn’t giving up. She would continue to watch, and when the moment
came
, she wouldn’t hesitate to
strike.
She had almost lost hope of anyone finding her—they must know she was missing, and she had left behind scraps of her dress in the hopes that someone would spot the trail. But Claire had been gone for several days now, and chances were good that the trail was cold. She would have to take care of herself.

             
A couple of hours traveli
ng that day took them to a shack
just off the trail. Claire had been allowed to sit up in back of the
wagon, so she was facing east, watching the path they took—the path home—fade from sight. Every so often she’d drop a
pebble as a means of leaving a sign. She’d torn enough strips
off her
dress that anymore would be too noticeable. Not that either Fred or Bud was particularly observant, but it never hurt to be too careful.

             
Back at the last campsite, Claire had placed a half circle of stones near the fire before they left, when Bud and Frank weren’t watching her. Anyone looking for Claire

would recognize the stones as a “C.” She was sure Maxwell would be looking for her, not only as a concerned and responsible sheriff, but as someone who cared for Claire as a person—she was convinced he
felt about
Claire the same way she felt about him.

When the wagon rolled to a stop
,
Claire jumped down and looked around.

             
“Where are we Frank?”

             
Bud snarled, “Never
you mind where we is, jest shut your
trap.”

             
“Now Bud, she d
o
n’t mean no harm. Lady
,
we’re at my claim and this here’s my home.
”

             
Claire glanced at the dwelling. It was a stretch to call this shack a
home. The tar paper shanty was aged to a yellow-brownish tinge and the only window was covered with an old animal skin. The yard was littered with a broken down wagon and assorted farm implements. A few scrawny chickens were scratching in the dust.

             
“I see, but I still don’t understand why I am here. Just let me go and I promise I’ll forget I
ever saw you.”

             
Frank tucked a hunk of greasy hair behind his ear and laughed. “Oh lady,
yore
gonna see a whole lot more of me.
Yore gonna be my wife only there ain’t gonna be no wedding.”

             
Claire gasped. “I will never be your wife. What makes you
think I’d consent to that?”

             
Bud snorted. ”Don’t look to me like you got any say in this matter girly. We was only planning to help ourselves to some grub at that store. Didn’t expect no woman to be in the backyard.
Just as well. We was in Omaha to meet a train from back east. Frank’s mail order bride was supposed to be on that train. She never showed. So guess yore it.”

             
Frank laughed again. “Yup, yore a mi
te
skinny for me
,
but
we’ll fatten you up.
Too bad you ain’t got yellow hair neither. I like yellow hair.
”

             
Claire flushed, tried to gain her composure and turned to face Bud. “And you, sir, where do you live?”

             
The burly man guffawed,” Oh girly, I’m on the next claim so don’t you worry none. You won’t get lonely. Now git in there.”

             
He shoved Claire to the front door of the shack and she stumbled into
a filthy room. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that the two were unloading the wagon. She turned back and began to search the cabin for a weapon. A rifle
,
a pistol, anything. Digging under a filthy pile of buffalo hides, she found a rusty old
gun
and bottle of whiskey
that was only half full.
She
shoved
the whiskey into a bag of flour and the gun
into her skirt pocket just as Frank came through the door, dragging in one of the stolen bags of food.

             
“Hey girl, git over here and start cleaning up the place. Now that I got me a wife I expect her to keep house. That means cooking and cleaning and other wifely duties.”

             
He leered at her and Claire involuntarily took a step back, clutching the pistol in her pocket. She backed up against the wall and struggled to keep her composure.

             
“Why, you dirty,
disgusting
old—” But Claire was cut off by a
shout
from Bud.

             
“Git out here
Frank
, there’s plenty of time for that later, I want to git home to my old lady. Unhitch yore wagon so’s I can be on my way.
”

             
The moment Frank was out the door, Claire pulled out the pistol. It was an old Colt Revolver, probably from the war. It
looked like it hadn’t been fired in years. She checked the
chamber
.

             
Empty. Frantically, she searched for
bullets,
pawing through the dust and grime on the floor,
and
searching through old furs,
finally locating one that had rolled into a corner.
She looked up to the sound of a horse galloping away. She was relieved to see it was Bud, headed for his own homestead. Frank seemed calmer and
more
stupid than Bud. Maybe she could talk to him, convince him to let her go. At the wors
t
she could wait until he fell asleep, then steal his horse and make a run for it.

             
Using the pretext of cleaning up Claire
began to
look for clues to try and find out where she was. She found an old newspaper, The Columbus Times,
and inwardly shouted with glee.  Columbus
was a big town, and it
had to be
close by
if Frank could get a paper. He didn’t really seem like the reading type, so she assumed he
didn’t
go out of his way to find the news. She began forming an elaborate getaway plan, wondering if she could get him drunk and escape more quickly.

             
Frank swaggered into the shack, interrupting her thoughts. He dumped a saddlebag on the floor and Claire realized it was the one holding her candlesticks and jewelry.

             
“Wife, I’m hungry
. W
here’s my supper?”
Leering at her he scratched his behind.

             
Claire fought back a nasty retort and
instead said
sweetly, “It will be a while longer, I’m just learning my way around. After all
,
you did tell me to clean up and that’s what I’ve been doing.” She had to fight to keep the grimace off her face as Frank sauntered over to another pile of junk on the floor and retriev
ed another
bottle of whiskey, pull
ing
the cork and t
aking
a long swig. He gestured the bottle at Claire and she shook her head.

             
That’s right, get drunk you stupid lug.

             
She dragged
the
food bag over to the rough table and began to peel potatoes.
Frank ambled over to a cot against the far wall, sank down into it and continued to drink from his bottle, all the while watching Claire with beady eyes
.

             
I have got to look around. See what I can use to get out of here.

Wiping her hands on a grimy towel,
Claire spotted a pail.

             
“I am going into the yard to get fresh water
;
I noticed a well when we rode up.” Frank merely grunted, working himself into an alcohol-induced stupor.

             
She stepped out into the yard and scanned her surroundings. There was a small sod barn and ramshackle chicken coop. The corral was by the barn and the well was in the middle of the trashy yard. She sprinted around the coop to see if she could spot a road or trail. Leading off into the grass was a faint wagon trail that she thought she might be able to follow, but her musings were interrupted by a yell from Frank.

             
“Woman! Where you at?” Claire hurriedly snatched up a couple of eggs. When she rounded the corner Frank was standing in the doorway with a scowl on his face.

             
“You wasn’t trying to run now was you? Cuz there ain’t no place to go. Me and Bud are the only homesteaders out this away. So jest git any notion out of yore head about leaving.
Yore my
woman now and it
’
s gonna stay that way.”

             
Claire held up the eggs and said rather frostily, “I just decided
some fresh eggs would go good with potatoes and
salt pork
.” And I
just found a trail out of here you
oaf
.

             
Frank glared at her and read her mind. “That trail you was
probably looking at, it leads straight to Bud’s place. Was you thinking about being neighborly?” He let out a loud snort and pulled another swallow from his whiskey.